Santa Wears a Mask?
by Seven Silver Stars
Summary: Christine stays up on Christmas Eve to meet Santa. But what if Santa isn't who we think he is? Completely random and not EC. Friendshipish.


It's kind of late, but this was supposed to be a Christmas fic. Sorry about that.

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It was Christmas night, and the young Christine Daae was determined not to fall asleep again. She had been saying to herself for years now, she would stay awake on Christmas, and see Santa Clause! Christine wanted to see if he really dressed in red and had a long, white beard and had a goofy red hat with a pompom at the end. It had been one of her favorite fantasies since as long as she could remember. She was not at all perturbed by the fact that somebody was more or less breaking into her house, eating the food, and leaving them random gifts.

Her mother had put out chocolate chip cookies and milk on a small table by the fir tree, like she always did. All the ornaments sparkled in the dim candlelight. Christine's stocking was hanging by the fireplace. She had knitted it herself, red with pink hearts on it. When her mother had commented on it "not being very Christmas-themed" Christine had replied with a stout "Hearts are cute." Thus, there was a red stocking with pink hearts on it hanging next to two practical red ones with white fluff on the top. Those were her mama's and papa's.

Anyway, the clock had just chimed eleven thirty. Christine had to restrain herself from biting her nails in anticipation. It was a bad habit of hers, one her mother had tried to nag out of her, along with many others. Christine's head was filled with thoughts of how Santa would look, what he would be doing, and other things. Perhaps she would catch him in the act of placing a present under the tree, or taking a bite out of a cookie.

The clock chimed eleven forty-five. Christine knew that it was now or never. It might take a while to sneak downstairs quietly. She shook the blankets off, and slid her feet into her fluffy pink slippers. Christine tiptoed across the room to her door, and opened it very, very slowly, taking care not to make a sound. The fireplace and Christmas tree were downstairs. Christine pressed herself to the wall, making sure to only step on the part of the stairs which was closest to the wall. Somebody had once told her that that was the part of the stairs which was least likely to creak, since the wall supported the stairs the most in that spot. She made her way, one agonizingly slow step at a time, to the very foot of the stairs. Tiptoeing again, Christine hid herself behind the couch, only the top of her head and her eyes poking out.

Suddenly, there was a rustling and a huffing in the chimney. Christine could have sworn she heard muffled curses, words that her mother had told her never, ever to say to anyone. A big green bag tied with a red-and-white striped ribbon at the top tumbled down into the fireplace first. Her mother never lit a fire on Christmas Eve, for fear that Santa wouldn't come.

A man dressed in a red suit and red pants and big, black boots with shiny buckles came after the bag, landing on it with an "oomph!" Christine had to admit, he wasn't nearly as fat as she thought he would be, but he was still pretty chubby. The odd thing was, he didn't have a beard, and he looked to be middle-aged, in his forties. The other strange thing about him was that he had a white half-mask on, covering the right side of his face. He spied the cookies first, going after them with a hungry gleam in his eye.

After drinking the milk and letting out a burp, he groaned and muttered to himself, "I swear, I gain more weight on this night alone than I do the rest of the year."

Christine caught what he said, and giggled, unable to stop herself in time. Santa immediately stiffened, hearing her laughter. He rose and walked over to the couch, looking behind it. He saw Christine, and his eyes immediately softened.

"Haven't you ever heard that saying, 'Curiosity killed the cat,' kid?" he said, not unkindly.

He didn't seem to mind Christine very much, so he started unloading presents and putting them under the Christmas tree. He took a few small things out of his bag and put them into the stockings. Christine watched this in awe, but she finally got up the nerve to ask him something that had been bothering her.

"Don't you live at the North Pole? Isn't it frightfully cold there?" Christine's curiosity got the better of her.

Santa looked up at her with a surprised look in his eyes. "No, actually, I don't all year. Only in the winter, when Christmas rolls around and I have to supervise the making of the toys. Those elves can't do anything on their own."

"Really? Where do you live the rest of the year, then?" Christine asked.

"Oh, I move about. I don't walk around wearing this red suit, of course. I usually live somewhere where I can listen to good music. There's nothing like classical," Santa looked wistful, "In any case, kid, it was nice meeting you. I have to go deliver presents to everyone else, too, you know. Maybe we'll meet again. Bye."

"Goodbye, Santa," Christine said.

With a laugh, Santa heaved his bag of presents onto his back and clambered back up the chimney. Christine, dazed from her experience, wandered back to her bed. She woke up the next morning and thought that it had all been a dream.

That is why, years later, when Christine went to the Paris Opera House and a person with a white half-mask showed up, Christine recognized him immediately. She had remembered, even though she thought it was a dream, she realized it was not.

That is also why her response to the man in the mask was to look at him in a weird way and then to say "Wait, I know you. You're SANTA CLAUSE." And let him lead her away.

FIN


End file.
